The Dagger job
by Tamara Reuveni
Summary: To pay off a debt to a dangerous man, Eleanor Spencer attempts to steal a valuable dagger. Her plans are complicated by three other thieves and one wily insurance investigator. Hopefully the first in a series of gender swap fics. All other characters are still their canon gender.
1. The Call

_To everyone who's been following my other story, 'The Rapist Job', don't panic. I haven't given up on it. Yet. It's just a little stuck. Okay, a lot stuck. And I wrote this in the meantime. _

_This is hopefully the first of a series of stories about Eleanor Spencer. Just to make things a little more interesting, all the other characters are still their canon gender. If you like it, please review. It makes my day. _

_This story is dedicated to Terry Pratchett, may he rest in peace. It is because of him that I started writing stories, and I know there are a lot of other people out there who can say the same. He will be sorely missed, but he lives on in the closest thing to immortality that exists in this world - written words. _

**"If you trust in yourself, and believe in your dreams, and follow your star, you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and weren't so lazy." **

**\- Terry Pratchett, "Wee Free Men"**

_And that's just one example of millions. If you don't have time to read all 80 of his books, (and if you don't, you need to reexamine your priorities), you should at least read "The Wit and Wisdom of Discworld", a collection of some of his best quotes. _

* * *

_**The Da**__**gg**__**er **__**J**__**ob**_

By: Tamara A. Ryder

**Boston, 2005**

"This is not how I planned to spend my day off," Eleanor growled.

The two goons didn't seem to care. The first one swung a punch at her, but she dodged it easily, ducked under his guard, and got him in a choke hold. That put him between her and Goon Number Two who circled, trying to get behind her. She let him, and then her foot shot out and caught him squarely in the stomach. He staggered backward into a tower of boxes. As the boxes fell, some of them ripped open, and an avalanche of small purple teddy bears in straw hats tumbled across the warehouse floor.

Kicking them out of her way, Eleanor turned her attention back to Goon Number One. A sharp twist of his arm yielded a satisfying pop. He yelled in pain. She grinned. Anyone could break a bone with enough force, but dislocating a joint took practice. Not that there was much difference in the result, but when she was fighting pathetic amateurs like these guys, she liked to set herself little challenges to keep things interesting.

In her peripheral vision, she saw Goon Number Two getting to his feet and pulling a knife from his boot. She spun to face him, dragging Goon Number One with her, just as the knife flew through the air. The blade buried itself in Goon Number One's shoulder. He yelled again. Eleanor took pity on him and knocked him out with a blow to the temple, but she didn't drop him until she was certain Goon Number Two didn't have any more knives. As Goon Number One slid to the ground, she pulled the knife from his shoulder and let it fly back to its owner. It hit him in the thigh. A little to the right of what she was aiming for, but there hadn't been time to line up the throw properly.

Goon Number Two automatically doubled over and clutched his leg. She tackled him while he was off balance and got him pinned up against the wall. "That's better," she said. She was hardly out of breath. "Now, how 'bout we talk this over like civilized people. Who do you work for?"

He stared back at her in terror but didn't say anything.

"Or we could do this the uncivilized way," she said. To demonstrate she reached down and twisted the knife in his leg.

He shrieked like a train whistle. "All right! All right! Jack Guttman. We were hired by Jack Guttman."

_Guttman. Damn,_ Eleanor thought. She should have known he wouldn't let that business with the Sapphire Monkey go.

But something wasn't right. If Guttman wanted her dead, he would have sent someone capable of doing the job, not these clowns.

Just then, Goon Number Two's phone rang. "I'll get that for you," Eleanor said with a deadly smile. She dug the phone out of his pocket. Sure enough, the caller ID said J. Guttman. Before she answered it, she took a switchblade from her own pocket, flipped it open, and drove it through the top of the man's ear and in to the wall to make sure he wouldn't go anywhere. He gave another shriek, ending in a bubbling whimper.

"Don't be a baby," Eleanor snapped. "There are hardly any nerves there. I could have used your hand . . . Or your throat."

That shut him up.

She pressed the button to accept the call. "Your man's busy getting the crap beat out of him, Guttman," she said. "Can I take a message?"

"Eleanor, my dear," Guttman purred. "How lovely to hear your voice again. I was rather hoping you'd be the one to answer."

Eleanor snorted. "I'll tell him you said so."

"Oh, he knows I'm not too concerned for his safety. I sent him to kill Eleanor Spencer, after all."

"He must have screwed up pretty badly to deserve such a cruel punishment."

"Oh, it's not a punishment," Guttman said. "Call it . . . a chance at redemption."

"Trial by combat?" Eleanor said dryly. "How Romantic of you."

Guttman chuckled. "Yes, I've always been old fashioned that way. Another of my old fashioned notions is that when an employee of mine fails to complete a job I feel that he, or she as it may be, should return any advance payments that were made. I gave you five thousand dollars to bring me the Sapphire Monkey, Eleanor. I do not have the Monkey. Therefore, you owe me."

Eleanor gritted her teeth. "I earned that money fair and square, Guttman. When_ your_ faulty intel got me caught, I sat in a North Korean prison for four months. I don't recall you bending over backwards to protect your investments then."

"Oh, come now, Eleanor, be sensible," Guttman said. "I wanted to help you. I really did. But I had to think of my reputation. If I had mounted a rescue mission, everyone would have known I was the one who sent you after the Monkey in the first place."

"And I ain't saying you were wrong," Eleanor said. "I'm just saying I don't owe you anything. And if you think I do, you're gonna have to send someone more persuasive than these second rate thugs."

Despite his position, the thug in question managed to look offended.

Eleanor covered the mouth piece of the phone and said sternly, "If I'm not honest with you, you'll never improve."

"Oh, I can do better than this, believe me," Guttman said. "This time was just a warning. And even second rate thugs could take you down if I sent enough of them. I don't even have to send them all at once. They'll just keep coming one after the other, and eventually they'll wear you down. A concussion here, a broken bone there, too many sleepless nights. You'll start making mistakes. But it would break my heart to have to do that to you, Eleanor. The Sapphire Monkey failure not withstanding, you're the best I've ever seen. So I'm going to give you a chance to pay your debt in trade."

Eleanor gave a low growl of frustration. She'd always hated working for Guttman. His sugary manners and 'my dear's reminded her of one of her mom's boyfriends. He paid well enough that she was willing to endure it, but when he left her to rot in that prison she was almost glad. It gave her a good excuse to refuse to work for him anymore. Still, she didn't seem to have much choice. As long as he thought she was in his debt, he would make her life miserable. "What's the job?" she said grudgingly.

"A client of mine for whom I move rare merchandise has asked me to arrange a retrieval. Have you ever heard of the Dagger of Aqu-Abi?"

"No. It sounds valuable though."

"It is priceless," Guttman said. "And by a happy coincidence, it is currently on display in the Boston Museum of Art and Antiquities not ten miles away from you. The exhibit closes tonight at which time it will be shipped back to a private collection where it will be untouchable. Get me that dagger before then, and we're even."

"Security measures?"

"I think I'll let you do your own intelligence gathering this time. That way there'll be no confusion about who is at fault if things go wrong. Good luck, my dear."

He ended the call. She glared at the phone for a moment, and then looked appraisingly at the man pinned to the wall. She was tempted to leave him there, but that switchblade had been a gift from Vance. She pulled it out. The man slid down the wall, clutching his bleeding ear. "Oh, cowboy up," Eleanor said. She picked up a teddy bear and used it to wipe the blade clean.

* * *

She spent the rest of the afternoon at the museum. The Dagger of Aqu-Abi was quite beautiful, but Eleanor had never understood the point of pretty weapons. Those emeralds and rubies messed up the balance, and it would be impossible to clean the blood off that gold filigree. She was more interested in the museum's security, particularly around the loading dock. By the time the museum closed to allow the staff to set up for the donors' gala that night, she had a plan.

Around the corner, she found an upscale boutique that yielded all the supplies she needed. Knives and guns were useful things, but Eleanor had found that sometimes a low cut dress and heels were more effective weapons. As a bonus, very few people would easily recognize the stylish young woman who now looked back at her from the dressing room mirror as Eleanor Spencer, the retrieval specialist.

Now she just needed a date.


	2. The Party

He was unusually young for a man of his position and reputation, but Eleanor wasn't surprised. Rumor had it that he'd joined the rebel army before he was ten. You grew up fast in that life, if you grew up at all.

There were many rumors about Robert Bioko among those who moved on the dark side of the international art world, but no one knew much about him. He ran most of the black markets in southern Africa through one channel or another, but no one did business with him directly. He was a shadow.

Eleanor _had_ been surprised to see his name on the guest list for the gala. (She'd spent a few minutes in the event coordinator's office that afternoon. When she visited a museum, she liked to tour it thoroughly.) The invitation had probably been issued as a mere courtesy, but for some reason Bioko had decided to accept. What could there be to interest him here? It crossed her mind that perhaps he was Guttman's client and he was here to make sure the job was done properly, but she dismissed the idea quickly. Robert Bioko wouldn't go through a middle man. He had plenty of thieves on his private payroll.

She pushed the mystery aside. Bioko's business had nothing to do with her. Her goal was the dagger. He was just her pass key. Once she was in, she'd find a way to lose him and get down to the loading dock.

Bioko paused to check his phone before entering the gallery, and Eleanor took the opportunity to approach him. "Minister Bioko?" she asked, lightly touching his arm.

He looked up, startled, and hurriedly put the phone in his pocket. "Yes?" he said.

"I'm Eleanor. The consulate hired me for the evening."

He frowned in confusion. "Hired you? To do what?"

She laughed and stepped a little closer to him. "Whatever you want, Minister. I have many talents."

His eyes widened, and he actually blushed a little. "Oh," he said, flustered. "Oh, I see." He floundered for a minute, then awkwardly offered her his arm. "Shall we go in?"

Somewhat bemused, she accepted. The greeter checked the Minister's name off the guest list and waved Eleanor through without comment. As she'd expected, no one wanted to question a man with Bioko's reputation.

At least one part of that reputation proved utterly false in the next few minutes. Robert Bioko was no ladies' man. He hardly seemed to know what to do with her. He wasn't interested in the art, either, although that wasn't unusual in those who bought and sold priceless pieces every day. The refreshment table, however, had his full attention. He ate with such enthusiasm that several people nearby looked at him oddly. Eleanor recognized the symptoms. Once a starving orphan, always a starving orphan, at least in your mind.

She didn't eat anything. Greasy hors d'oeuvres were not her idea of food. She did take a glass of champagne from a passing waitress who seemed eager to be rid of it, but after one sip she hastily put it down on a nearby table. It tasted horrible. Someone had probably left it sitting in the air too long.

Bioko hardly spoke to her for which she was relieved. It gave her a chance to look for her next pass key. She found it pinned to the pocket of a blue coverall. The man wearing the coverall was mopping up a spilled drinks tray. No matter how skilled the wait staff, it always happened at least once during every party, which was why the janitor was never far away. People tended to forget about them, but custodial staff often had more access to sensitive areas than the people at the top. After all, messes happened everywhere.

Eleanor was about to make an excuse to abandon Bioko when something odd happened. The lights flickered and dimmed for a moment. Eleanor looked up reflexively along with everyone else, but she returned her attention to Bioko's face in time to catch a glimpse of a satisfied smile. Her mind began to race. If Bioko had been expecting that, it hadn't been an ordinary power surge. It had been an attack on the museum's electronic security system. Bioko _was_ here to supervise a heist. Just not her heist. What were the chances that he was also after the dagger? Very good. She had to assume that was his target and step up her timetable accordingly. She needed that key card now.

"Excuse me a moment, Minister," she said. "I'm going to use the restroom. I'll be right back."

"Of course," he said, hardly looking at her. He was checking his phone again. That was probably how his people were keeping him updated.

As he spoke, she caught a strong scent on his breath. Shrimp. She frowned. That didn't make sense. There was only one thing she knew for certain about Robert Bioko. He had a deadly allergy to shrimp. She made a habit of keeping up to date on all the potentially life threatening medical conditions of people she might have to kill at short notice. She used to have contests with Shelley to see who could name more of them. It had driven Vance mad, which only made it more fun. She looked more closely at the man in front of her. Yes, the face was a little too clean cut. There were no scars. The nose had never been broken. She touched his arm again. The muscles were slack.

He looked at her, confused by the sudden change in her demeanor. "Is something wrong?" he asked. The accent was good, but there were tiny flaws now that she was listening for them.

"No," she said. "Nothing." She turned and walked away, but she didn't head for the restroom or the janitor's cart. She went just far enough that the crowd would hide her, and then she turned and watched him.

When he was sure she was safely away, he checked his phone one more time, then began to cough violently. Several people came over to him concernedly. At first he waved them away, but then he doubled over in a second coughing fit. A woman in a lurid pink cocktail dress picked up a hors d'oeuvre and sniffed it. "This has shrimp in it," she said. "Are you allergic to shrimp?"

Swiftly, the fake Minister Bioko changed tacks, clutching his throat. "Yes. I'm allergic to shrimp," he rasped.

"Oh," cried the woman. "His throat's closing up. Somebody help."

It was good acting, but a little too pat. The woman had to be an accomplice.

A man pushed his way forward, saying, "I'm a doctor." The words magically cleared a path for him. He knelt beside the gasping man. "Do you carry any medicine?" he asked. "An Epi-pen or pills?"

The little tableau was drawing everyone's attention, so Eleanor was probably the only one who noticed the woman in the pink dress detach herself from the crowd, swipe a key card at an "employees only" door, and slip out of the gallery. _Not so fast_, she thought. _That dagger's mine_.

She fought her way back through the crowd, calling, "Here. I have his medicine here. Let me through. I'm his wife." She pulled a tin of salt tablets from her purse, holding it so the doctor couldn't see its contents. Leaning close to the fake minister, she spoke without moving her lips. "I know you're not Robert Bioko. Play along and I won't give you away." Then she shoved a tablet in to his mouth. "Is there a back room or an office where he could lie down for a little while?" she asked no one in particular.


	3. Too Many Thieves

_A/N - Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this story. Sorry about that. Can't promise I won't do it again though. My fanfiction loyalties are now divided between 'Leverage' and 'Bones'. If there are any 'Bones' fans reading this, please check out my one-shot series 'Learning to Fall', and tell me what you think. And now, back to Eleanor Spencer. _

* * *

Chapter Three – Too Many Thieves

The doctor insisted on accompanying them, and Eleanor couldn't think of a good reason to refuse. She helped Impostor Bioko to his feet while her thoughts raced ahead, rewriting her plan to account for the new elements. "Don't overdo it," she growled in his ear as he leaned on her theatrically.

"Just selling the part," he whispered. His real accent was from the slums of New York.

She gritted her teeth but didn't say any more. The doctor was already looking at them curiously.

A bearded man escorted them solicitously to the same "employees only" door Pink Dress had disappeared through. There was a touchy moment when Beard couldn't find his key card. So that was where Pink Dress had lifted it from. Fortunately the door suddenly opened from the inside, and a man in the uniform of the museum's private security came through. He stopped short when he saw them all standing there. "What's the problem, Mr. Gladstone?" he asked their escort.

"Oh, Coswell. Good," Gladstone said. "There's been a medical emergency. If you could just let these people by. The medical suite is the third door on the left," he told them.

Eleanor though she saw a flicker of suspicion in Coswell's face as they passed him, but then Gladstone went on, "Everyone's very upset. I think we should close the gallery and start processing the artifacts right away."

Coswell was distracted and not very happy with the idea. "Are you sure? The gala-" Eleanor heard him say before the door closed between them.

She wasn't happy either. That mean she had less than an hour to find the dagger's shipping information, change her clothes, and get to the loading dock while dodging security, and she still didn't know who all the players were. This job was turning in to a real pain in the ass.

The "medical suite" was just an unused office that someone had shoved a cot in to. Eleanor dumped Impostor Bioko on it none too gently, and closed and locked the door before turning to the puzzled doctor. "Thank you so much for your help, Doctor…" She held out her hand as the sentence trailed off questioningly.

A lifetime of societal conditioning overcame his suspicion for a moment. "Abernathy," he said, shaking her hand. "Wes Abernathy."

In one smooth movement, Eleanor twisted his arm and got him in a choke hold. He struggled instinctively, but though Eleanor was smaller than him, she knew how to apply leverage.

"Hey, hey. Easy," Impostor Bioko said, bouncing up off the cot. "Don't hurt him. I ain't bein' part of no murder. I don't like blood, a'right? Makes me pass out."

"And I should care why?" Eleanor snapped. "I'd be happy to have you out of the way too." But though it would have simplified things immensely, she had no intention of killing the doctor. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. She pushed him down in to the desk chair in the corner. "Sit there and be quiet," she ordered. She turned to Impostor Bioko. "What are you after?" she asked. "The dagger?"

She didn't expect him to answer truthfully. She didn't need him to. His face answered for him. "No," he started to say. "I wasn't gonna take anything. I was just gate crashing."

"Right. You're a terrible liar," Eleanor said.

"What the hell is going on?" the doctor asked, looking back and forth between the two of them with wide eyes.

Eleanor cuffed him around the ear. Not very hard. Just hard enough to shock him in to silence. "I told you to be quiet. Disobey me again, and I'll rethink not killing you. I have no time to waste." She returned her attention to Impostor Bioko who looked a little frightened of her now. "How many people are on your team? I know about the woman in the pink dress."

He looked genuinely puzzled at that. "What woman in a pink dress? No, I work alone."

It had the ring of truth, but… "How did you reboot the security system? I was with you the whole time."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "These systems are all run by computers now," he said as smugly as if that was his own doing. "Age of the geek, baby."

Eleanor gave him her coldest glare. "If you value your life, you will never call me 'baby' again. So you're a hacker. That explains a lot. Next time you impersonate someone, you should find out more about them than their name."

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking. If he really was working alone, then who was Pink Dress? _Another_ thief? What were the odds that three different people would decide to rob the same museum on the same night? Actually very good when that night was the night a lot of valuable artifacts were being shipped back to their owners. Transport was almost always the best time for a grab, and the gala made it fairly easy to get in.

There were footsteps in the hallway. Eleanor's eyes flew open, and she moved towards the doctor, but it was too late. His shout escaped, and the footsteps stopped. A moment later, the door opened and a woman looked in.

It was Pink Dress, although she'd changed in to a lab coat and sensible flats and put on a pair of glasses. "What the-" she said when she saw Eleanor with her hand clamped over the doctor's mouth.

Eleanor laughed mirthlessly. This was beginning to feel like one of those old comedy movies where everyone was working at cross purposes and having hilarious misunderstandings. Except it wasn't at all funny when your life was at stake and time was running out. "Come on in," she said to the woman. "Join the party."

"Party?" the woman said in apparent bewilderment. "I don't understand. What's going on here?" Her voice had changed too. It was high and quavering with a hint of a lisp.

"Well, at least you're a better actor than him," Eleanor said, jerking her head at Impostor Bioko. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you're after something other than the Dagger of Aqu-Abi."

To her credit the woman also knew when to give up. "Afraid so," she said in her real voice, or at least the voice she'd been using before. "Sophie Deveraux. Grifter." She gave a theatrical little bow.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow at the name. "Are you now? Interesting. Eleanor Spencer."

Sophie raised an eyebrow in turn. "Yes. I've been hearing about you more and more in the past few years. They say you're very good."

"They say the same about you," Eleanor said.

Both women looked expectantly at Impostor Bioko. "Alec Hardison?" he said hopefully.

Eleanor shook her head. "Sorry. Doesn't sound familiar."

He deflated a little but recovered quickly. "Just wait," he said. "After _I _steal the Aqu-Abi Dagger, I'm gonna be a legend."

"Not if I get there first," Eleanor and Sophie said at the same time.

* * *

_A/N#2 - Okay, this story has so far received a grand total of 2 reviews, and they were both from the same person. Now I know more than one person has read this because there's this handy thing called a page view tracker. So here's the deal. I write because I enjoy it. But I publish to get other people's opinions. You can love it to pieces or damn it to hell. I don't care which. You can call it the worst thing written since 'Twilight'. You can tell me to do the world a favor and go live in a cave and never write another word as long as I live. I won't do that, but feel free to say it if that's what you think. Just **tell me what you think** so I know I'm not sending this stuff in to a black hole. Thank you. _


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